


Madness

by HardiganCaptain



Category: Bronson [2008]
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardiganCaptain/pseuds/HardiganCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay so it's more a fan's gushing over a fantastic character but still...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness

It’s odd. Odd living with someone like him. Someone who doesn’t quite meet the world’s gaze eye to eye but you wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not the odd way he has of speaking as though on stage in front of the audience he craves. Not the shaving cream that speckles the sink and wall because he always flicks his wrist too hard as he grows more and more impatient with the mundane task of shaving. Nor the tie that always seems to land on the TV after he comes home from work claiming the bloody thing feels like a noose. 

Even though everyone else mutters beneath their breath that he is half mad at best, completely raving at worst, you can’t help but think they’re the ones out of touch. Despite the underground brawls, the back alley fights, he never raises a hand to you in anger, never strikes you when you throw things about the room because you’re so angry at everything you can’t hold it in, and something thumps him on accident. He doesn’t raise his voice, not at you. No, when he’s angry with you he grows terribly still, his eyes going dark and empty as he stares through you. 

His laughter is your favorite. The unrestrained sound from his chest, head thrown back, cheeks dimpling as his mouth falls open, lips curling. The gleam in his eye as he watches you move through the house, possessive and curious all at once. The feel of it settling between your shoulder blades even when you’re doing the most ordinary things, sending goosebumps along your skin that you know he sees but never comments on. The way he seems to study your reaction to everything as though each one is something ground breaking and he needs to crack it. 

The way he moves holds you in fascination for hours, he’s almost never still. As though coming to a stop doesn’t even occur to him, moving through the house with a smooth gait, his whole body seems to roll with every step, every action an act of suppressed aggression. His moods are different, his smiles broad, a flash of humor, before vanishing from his face as though they were never there at all. There’s a hunger that simmers just behind his eyes, it’s always there and it makes you shiver when that gaze is focused on you, pulls you in no matter where you are, as though the gaze itself holds a heavy gravitational pull. 

His hands are strong, whether they’re pummeling someone into something unrecognizable in the aftermath or pulling you closer as your body shakes with need. Clever fingers that can tear your restraint to pieces, dragging over you as though learning how you fit together from the marrow to the skin that gleams under the moonlight’s silver gaze. Broad palms that press heavy down the line of your body, molding you into a wanton thing with no shame. 

Those full lips half hidden beneath hair that drive you mad. Constantly spouting ridiculous things, plans for fame, demands for attention, or trailing over your neck and leaving fire in their wake. And sometimes, when you least expect it, they form insightful thoughts you weren’t prepared for, curve into a warm smile and purr your name in a way that makes you weak at the knees. 

What’s a bit of madness compared to the way you feel treasured? To the way his thoughts come unhinged when you kiss him mid ramble, his eyes open and watching, always watching. What’s a few hours arguing with cops who only see the devastation he can leave in his wake when those dark eyes light up when they spot you through iron bars. It’s worth it, that charming smile that’s all dimples, those lips pressing kisses down your neck while his arms are breaking your ribs once he’s out again. Ready to take on the world with his teeth bared in a savage grin, his formidable shoulders rolling with the excitement of one more go, another row that leaves behind scars and savage glee. 

He’s yours madness and all. Rough and ready, hot and heavy. And if you’re neighbors whisper as you walk past it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t care. When they cross the street to steer clear of his path he grins and waves cheerily. Trailing his fingers along your arm, bread and butter if you part, not to shy to snap if someone gets too close to you or makes you cry. 

Madness is relative anyways isn’t it?


End file.
